


Unconventional adulterer

by skaralding



Series: Unconventional training [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Cousin Incest, Emotional Manipulation, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Uchiha Massacre, Rough Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 00:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20399020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaralding/pseuds/skaralding
Summary: If Takehiko were a decent person, he’d have walked away from his relationship with Yuri the moment she got married. Unfortunately, not only did he stick stubbornly by her side, he began to have shameful thoughts about her husband Itachi as well…





	Unconventional adulterer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLord/gifts).

> So Moonlord (iirc) wanted to see Takehiko getting fucked by Itachi. I believe this counts as me delivering ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• ). And yes I know I am stretching the limits of... something with this fic name but... /o\
> 
> FYI for anyone who somehow gets here without reading other stuff in the _Unconventional_ series, this story is a side piece set in a larger universe, and may not make much sense out of context.

Takehiko didn’t know how things had got to this point. Well, he knew, he just didn’t want—didn’t _want_ to want what he wanted, sometimes. He’d never been with a man before, or really anyone other than Yuri, even though she’d calmly given him permission to play around whenever he was on border patrol for longer than a couple weeks.

He’d never wanted anyone this much before, fixated on anyone like this. Yuri had been a fixation too, but he’d at least been able to do something about it, to plan his approach and try his approach and fight back his infernal blush when she smirked at him. It felt forbidden—he wasn’t good enough for her and they both knew that meant they shouldn’t be fucking—but not like this. It had felt forbidden, but somehow right.

This, standing opposite Itachi in the dim confines of one of the clan training rooms, this felt forbidden and _wrong_. Because Takehiko knew he hadn’t been asking for this spar, this duel, solely because of the guilt he felt for being the third party in Itachi and Yuri’s marriage. He’d asked for the duel because it was the right thing to do, certainly, but also because if, afterwards, Itachi chose to punish him in an even more visceral way, it would be explainable, easily blamed on adrenaline.

(Takehiko was never so hopeless at things with Yuri that he had to resort to sparring her and ‘accidentally’ touching her during it. His cousin Erika, on the other hand, was always so vocal about how well that tactic worked for her that Takehiko, in his desperation, couldn’t help but give it a try.)

“Ready?” Itachi said, adjusting his arm wraps with small, invitingly precise movements. “If you’re having second thoughts, Takehiko-san, you know we can call this off.”

If not for Takehiko’s chakra control, he was sure he would have been flushing stupidly right now. “I’m ready, Itachi-sama,” he said, evenly. “Come.”

Naturally, he lost. Shamefully, Takehiko was quite sure that Itachi didn’t push things as hard as he could have—as he traditionally _would_ have, if he were really the injured party seeking vengeance on the clansman that had trespassed in his preserves. It was all brutal, but survivable taijutsu, nothing complex at all, and yet it still managed to make Takehiko feel much like a punching bag might do at the end of a long training session.

Itachi’s kicks _hurt_, even as grazes, even cushioned by chakra. Takehiko could already feel the bruising down his left side, and the place on his thigh where Itachi had forced his own kick off target, and the place on his back where he had been a hair too slow to avoid a punch, and there was something wrong, just _wrong_ with Takehiko’s brain, that it took in all that pain and turned it into arousal somehow.

Takehiko knew he liked being pushed around—being with Yuri had meant he couldn’t avoid that fact any longer. Being with Yuri was delightful because she never even hinted, once, that if he were a real man, he’d be the one wanting to be on top, wanting to dominate, wanting to stake his claim. She just smiled and held him down and took what she wanted, and somehow he’d always thought that was the best thing that could ever happen, to the point that his filthy imaginings of what would happen after his spar with Itachi looked much like that.

Like Itachi gently cradling his broken body, soothing his hurts with one hand while soothing his aching cock with another.

Instead, every time Itachi slammed against him, Takehiko thought of what it would feel like if that aggressive action was followed by—followed by—

“Are you hard?”

Takehiko jerked in Itachi’s iron grip, wrenched out of his lurid fantasy by that low, incredulous question. “I’m—it’s not—”

Itachi had always been unfailingly polite to him. So it came as an utter shock when, instead of smiling a little and pulling backward—hard-ons just happened in spars sometimes, it wasn’t a big deal—Itachi let his full weight fall on Takehiko, pressing him firmly against the thickly padded floor.

“Wha—”

“We both know this spar isn’t going anywhere,” Itachi said, and how could he still sound that polite when he was forcing his thigh up between Takehiko’s legs? “Shall we do something else?”

“I don’t—”

“Didn’t you say you tarnished your honour?” Itachi’s breath was hot on the side of his neck. “Were you lying?”

“N-no, but…”

“You wanted to submit to me, right? To make up for what you’ve done.” One of Itachi’s hands was tight around the back of Takehiko’s neck, and the other was brazenly unbuttoning his pants. “This will help a lot.”

“Itachi-sama, this isn’t—” Takehiko had been just this hard, this eager, that first, cherished time with Yuri, when she rolled on top of him and pressed him down. He couldn’t move then, and he couldn’t move now, even though Itachi wasn’t directly touching him, because there was only one direction things could go when Itachi was coolly divesting him of his pants. “You can’t do this.”

“You fucked my wife.” And hadn’t Takehiko been dreading hearing just that all along, ever since Yuri pulled him close after telling him the news? _I won’t give you up,_ she’d said, stubbornly. _Don’t even think about it._ And so Takehiko hadn’t; he’d welcomed her into his rooms again and again, ignoring the new ring on her finger, ignoring the fact that most of the time, she rightfully belonged to someone else.

Maybe he deserved this, deserved to have Itachi’s warm, cruelly capable hands on him, reaching around to cup and squeeze and fondle the tense muscles of his ass as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. As if Itachi’s weight and Itachi’s small, threatening smile weren’t the only things keeping Takehiko from running for the hills. “Isn’t it fitting that you offer yourself as compensation?” Itachi was saying, now, his tone reasonable, even as his hands trespassed. “I think it is.”

“I—I don’t—”

“Spread your legs,” Itachi said, his tone low and soothing, entirely in contrast to the way he’d moved a hand back around to Takehiko’s front and _gripped_ him, stroking him roughly. Itachi’s touch was like a brand, an unmistakable heat that Takehiko felt through the thin material of his boxers. “Spread for me.”

Takehiko opened his mouth, then closed it with a harsh click. He could feel himself leaking, staining the cloth of his boxers, staining Itachi’s hand. “I—” What was _wrong_ with him, that he couldn’t even try to lie that he didn’t want this?

Gasping, burning with shame, Takehiko obeyed, parting his thighs an inch, and then another, and another. Itachi hummed, satisfaction clear in the timbre of his voice. “Good,” he said, though he’d already let go of Takehiko’s throbbing cock. “You’ll do.”

“It—is—aren’t you going to…?”

“If you’re going to be so kind as to stand in for my wife tonight,” Itachi said, his fingers trailing up the inside of Takehiko’s trembling thigh, “I’d much prefer we did it in a bed.”

_Yuri’s bed,_ Takehiko thought, and flushed, forgetting his chakra control, forgetting everything but the scandalous thought of doing that—being _made_ to do that, in the same bed where Yuri was also made, also forced to—

He knew it wasn’t like that between Yuri and Itachi, mostly because he knew Yuri wouldn’t stand for being mistreated even by the almighty clan heir. But just now, right now, Takehiko couldn’t help but imagine certain things.

It didn’t help that Itachi kept touching him. That Itachi blandly refused to let him put on his pants again, offering a cloak to wrap up in instead. It was cold outside, at least, so no one that saw them on their way back to Itachi’s house would think anything of it, but Takehiko felt naked beneath that cloak, exposed. Helpless.

When they were within the house, Itachi half led, half prodded him until they were both upstairs. Then Takehiko was on his hands and knees in Yuri’s bed and crying out like the whore he was as Itachi fingered and spread him. Yuri liked to do this to him too, so it was very familiar. Very easy.

Itachi didn’t say anything about it, but he didn’t have to; Takehiko said it all for him mentally, his mind stuffed with dirty, disparaging words. _How much cock do you take up here when you’re out on patrol? Do you let your whole team use you? Is it normal for a man to be so yielding here, so loose?_

Itachi’s cock was bigger than the small, discreet thing that Yuri had trained Takehiko with. He told himself that was why he was so loud, why he rocked back so desperately on each one of Itachi’s merciless thoughts. He didn’t _like_ it like this, it was just familiar, just enough familiar that he shot all over Yuri’s flower-patterned bedspread in five strokes, and yet still kept angling back for more.

“I’m not…” _A slut. I’m not a slut._ “I don’t—ugh—nhg—don’t want it—”

“Of course you don’t,” Itachi said, his voice raspy with effort. “This is your punishment.”

“Ngh…yes…”

“I can be rough, right? You can take it?”

“Y-yes, Itachi-sama,” Takehiko stammered, even though he was thinking incredulously that _this_ wasn’t considered as rough? _This_ was Itachi being considerate?? “It’s your right,” he said anyway, unsteadily. “Punish this one as you see fit.”

“Hn.” What followed after that low, pleased grunt was nothing short of hell. That it felt good enough to die from was besides the point.

Punishment was one word for it. Takehiko had his head and shoulders forced down into the small, sticky patch of come he’d already left behind. Only then did Itachi change the angle and increase the speed of his thrusts, hammering into Takehiko until Takehiko thought he would break.

Screaming didn’t relieve the tension. Coming again only took the edge off, and made Takehiko painfully, gloriously sensitive. He thought he would die, but he didn’t; he simply blacked out the third time Itachi wrung an orgasm from him, then woke up on his back, his legs slung over Itachi’s sweaty shoulders, his body shaking from Itachi’s relentless thrusts.

Thankfully, Itachi came soon after that. It almost didn’t feel good; Takehiko by then was just too sore, too exhausted to do more than twitch a bit when he felt Itachi shudder against him. “That…” he found himself slurring, “was that… was this one’s performance acceptable?”

“Very much so,” Itachi said, his voice only a little unsteady. “You may consider the debt between us even, for now.”

_Fucking geniuses,_ Takehiko thought, even as he strained himself to respond to that concession with a nod. _Would it **kill** him to pretend to be a little bit tired?_ “Then… if this one can, can rest for a bit…”

“Of course, Takehiko-kun,” Itachi said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Make yourself at home.” As if, as if Takehiko were asking to take a seat, rather than sprawled and limp in Yuri and Itachi’s bed and sticky with a frankly ludicrous amount of come. “I’ll be washing up in the bathroom for the next few minutes; don’t hesitate to call out to me if you need anything.”

“Yeah,” Takehiko murmured. He didn’t feel satisfied at all, but well, it _had_ been meant to be a punishment, right? That he was lying here like a dead fish while Itachi straightened up and strolled off out of the bedroom was par for the course. “Just what was I thinking would happen…”

* * *

The worst part was the fact that he didn’t even have to tell Yuri, she took one look at him when he sat down for dinner, and just _knew_.

That she didn’t laugh at him was the only plus. Her sympathetic glances and her pointed offering of the rice porridge to him were more than enough to deal with, each action just as infuriating as it was touching.

Later, when they laid down together in her newly remade bed, Yuri slung an arm around his waist and told him he’d got off lightly. “You should see the way Sasuke looks, afterwards,” she said, her tone gossipy and eager as ever. “Sometimes, he can’t even _walk_.”

“He does that to his own brother?” Takehiko, no stranger to the fact that Uchiha sometimes took keeping in the clan far too seriously, didn’t know what he found most scandalous about what he’d just said. That Itachi would—with his _brother_—wasn’t completely surprising. That kind of thing happened sometimes; it was just that no one ever talked about it in public.

What was surprising was the fact that Takehiko had been quite sure that though Itachi had a really large, really obvious soft spot for Sasuke, it was only that. And then there was the fact that said soft spot somehow also included Itachi not just feeling the need to pound Sasuke until he couldn’t walk, but ruthlessly indulging in it. “Does… does Sasuke-kun _like_ being treated that way?”

“He doesn’t _not_ like it,” Yuri said, dryly. “At least, not so far as I can tell. But hey, forget him, forget that, I want to know all about how it happened. Did you make the move?”

Scowling, Takehiko buried his blushing face in the pillow. “Why do you assume that _I’d_ be the one to—”

“You were the one who came on to me,” Yuri said, with that tone in her voice that let him know she was grinning. “Come on, come on, spill, huh? Tell me?”

Naturally, he gave in.


End file.
